By Nora Mitchell

I swore to myself if I was ever given a platform I would use it for good, to advocate for others. Now that I’ve been hired at the B&S, the pinnacle of journalistic integrity, I did some investigation to uncover one of ResLife’s deepest darkest secrets.

Last year, when I was a first year, I wound up in the hospital for three weeks with the mumps after using the communal towel someone had placed in our residence hall bathroom to share. It was later in the year and nobody had once washed it. I was desperate and had a moment of weakness that thwarted my long-term health. But here’s the real question: how could ResLife allow this to happen?

When I first spoke with Jack Frost-Lalala at the beginning of the year about the paper towels situation, he explained that students on campus a few years back advocated for more “environmental practices on campus.” Since my hospital stay and getting hired at the B&S, I’ve decided to investigate this further. I meticulously combed through the archives of the state-approved campus paper, The S&B, and found that students were only mad at D-Hall for single-use paper plates. I knew this had to be the case because there is absolutely no way that anyone’s sign said “wet hands save wetlands.” 

Why would Jack Frost-Lalala and the rest of Reslife decide to do this under the guise of a completely different movement? Mr. Frost-Lalala was more concerned about keeping me quiet than keeping students safe. He offered me a spot in Renfrow Hall and his firstborn for my troubles. I initially rejected his proposal, asking for his fourth one as well, and he eagerly obliged. Looking back, it was odd how desperate he was to keep these matters from the administration. 

At this past “Desserts with Trustees” on October 1st, I spoke with the chair Chrispy Mendedlip ‘44 about the paper towel situation, exposing my falling ill and the bribes I received from Reslife. 

“My heavens! I knew vaccines were a government fallacy, but this doesn’t make any sense! The Board of Trustees allocates 666 million dollars to fracking and paper towels on campus every year! This money better not be going to financial aid!” Mendedlip exclaimed. At that moment, I knew I had him. 

When I broke into Mr. Frost Lalala’s office, there was no incriminating evidence, so I turned to leave. But right before I noticed a sticky note on his computer screen that read “LYLE.” Lyle…as in Lyle’s Pub?!

I knocked out a dhall worker and grabbed their keys to the basement of JRC, and let me tell you all right now: Lyle’s Pub is alive and well. Mr. Jack Frost-Lalala has been using our paper towels to make moonshine where the old pub used to be! Is he drinking it all? Is he giving it to 10/10? Is he slowly slipping it into the water supply here to make us all a little less uptight? I’m not entirely sure, but as a journalist of the people I demand we be given what is rightfully ours! I plan to continue my investigation, but in the meantime, let us reinstate the right to have dry hands! Get rid of slobbery doorknobs! Protest by touching a professor’s face with your slimy fingers! Set fire to the communal towel (if that thing even burns)! We are NOT going back.